My father died April 1946, I would be two years nine months old. On this photograph I must be around two, Liz would be around six, Barbara eight and Brian ten. My father may well have taken this photograph because my mother looks too happy. I know she went through a terrible period when he died, so much, that I was put into a "convalescent home" with Liz to keep me company. I do have a vague memory of the place. Liz has much stronger memories of it. However despite being left in a desperate position with four children and no money, mother literally went to work (part time) and managed to rear the four of us; we all ended up normal people with good careers. On a very sad note, my brother Brian's son, Martin died 2017 after a heart operation, he was a very successful architect with offices in Liverpool city centre; this had a devastating effect on all the family. Brian who was struggling with serious health problems died two years later in May 2019